


Lachrymose (The Anatomy of a Tear)

by QuillerQueen



Series: Love As the Moon Loves [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dark!OQ, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 07:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16057934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: Queenie Regina unexpectedly bursts into tears during a fight, and Robin of Locksley melts when he understands the depth of why. (Rating due to some crude language and mentions of abuse, just to be on the safe side.)





	Lachrymose (The Anatomy of a Tear)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this powerful doodle, heart-breaking and heart-warming at the same time.
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/BV6UmLZBGWo/?taken-by=oqdoodles

She won’t cry in front of him.

She will not.

She’s a queen, for heaven’s sake, and has some dignity still.

No, she’s going to turn on her heel, stalk out of the dining hall and up to the privacy of her chambers first--or better yet, she’ll poof herself there. It gets the job done faster, and she knows how much it annoys him when she disappears on him like that. Yes, that’ll work just fine.

Except Regina cannot move. Because Robin is raging, he’s yelling at this point, and he’s close, too close, right in her face, gesturing wildly as he tries to make her see reason--a lost cause at this point, because all that gets through right now is  _ loud  _ and  _ danger  _ and  _ trapped _ , his words not standing a chance against that thick, chilling fog of anxiety pressing down and binding her entire body. She knows, rationally, that while Robin might be passionate, hot-headed, even crude at times, he’d never actually hurt her, nor does he mean to make her feel this way. It still paralyses her though; it’s an old instinct instilled in her since early childhood.

So there’s no escape, no magic to be summoned when she’s like this, weak and pathetic and fucking standing there, petrified, as hot tears pour down her cheeks burning with shame.

“Get--out,” she manages between heaving sobs--the only damn thing her body will do right now, and why the hell is it set on embarrassing her like this?

And Robin does. He looks her over with a blank expression that could just as well be shock as it could be annoyance, and goes--or starts to at least, but turns back in the door with a deep frown.

The tears don’t stop, and neither does the cold fist gripping Regina’s gut.

_ Shit shit shit. _

* * *

He can’t bloody believe the nerve of her.

Robin of Locksley has seen his share of tears. He’s witnessed noblewomen shed fake ones to get their way with rich, sleazy husbands; seen daughters manipulate clueless fathers. He’s seen his share of genuine tears as well--of grief, and fear, and spite, and very rarely joy. As a boy, and later man, he’d been taught all tears, real or fake, are shameful and weak.

Regina is strong, and proud, and what the ever-loving fuck has gotten into her?

If these were real tears, she wouldn’t let him see. And if it’s the other kind… Does she really think he’ll fall for such a cheap trick?

_ Get out _ , she said, and he wants to, he truly does in that moment, fuming and itching to slam a door behind him--except something doesn’t seem right.

He can’t put a finger on it, but can’t help stopping just shy of the door and glaring back at her.

The queen’s posture is stiff and regal as ever--too stiff perhaps. Her fists are clenched so tight her knuckles are white, and she’s positively shaking, but other than that, the quiver of her lips, and the flaring nostrils as she takes quick, shallow breaths, she doesn’t move at all.

Wrong--her eyes do. She’s such expressive eyes, he’s never seen their like. And they speak even now. Their restless flickering from object to object, and the way she will only look at him askance--it reminds him of something. Someone.

His mother, Lady Locksley, cowering as his father rains abuse at her, quite frozen in place when she wasn’t shielding Robin and his brother. She’d develop a habit of jumping at every noise and freezing up even when Lord Locksley was nowhere near.

Fuck, is Regina--?

_ Fuck. _

Her eyes go wide when Robin approaches, but she stares him square in the face, her defiance newly returned now that he (fuck fuck fuck, he’s the one who’s done this to her, he makes himself sick) is no longer shouting or (however unwittingly) invading her personal space.

The knowledge that he’s hurt her like this stings hot behind his eyelids.

Where he comes from, tears were but a sign of weakness--and so were apologies.

“Sorry,” he mouths inaudibly, like the penitent coward he is, and reaches for her, hovering an arm’s length away.

She tilts her head at him, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly as she licks the salt off her lips and blinks rapidly. She’s still the queen, and still too proud to let him wipe her tears away, but she does take half a step towards him, and he wraps his arm lightly around her waist.

“Could you at least consider my position in this,” he tells her, “and not be so bloody obstinate all the time.”

“Pot calling the kettle black,” she fires back--and Robin smirks in answer to her tentative grin.

They’re back on track, and thank fuck for that.


End file.
